Caffeine
by nonotthatone
Summary: Clex, one-shot. Lex lets Clark order for him. Pure fluff.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

A/N: I've started cross-posting my fic to livejournal (nonotthatone dot livejournal dot com). If you'd like to follow me there, friend away.

* * *

Caffeine

It was any old Saturday morning at the Talon. Lex sat in one of the smaller booths off to one side, idly reading his newspaper and watching with something approaching affection as another Smallville weekend began.

Lex doubted he would ever really feel in place here, in this town that wore its heartland values and early bedtimes on its sleeve; but there was still something quaint and admirable about the way Main Street came to life on the hard-working citizens' first day of rest. The morning sun streamed through the old-fashioned storefronts; battered pickups hulked at every parking meter; neighbors hailed each other on the sidewalks and exchanged the week's news. It filled Lex with a sense of nostalgia – as much as you could long for something you'd never had.

He did a lot of that these days – longing. To be honest, he was doing it right now. He could tell his housekeeper that he was going to the Talon to drink his coffee and read his paper because he preferred the bustle of the place to the silence of his own solarium. He could even tell himself that if he liked; it was not, on its face, untrue. But beneath literal truth was a deeper one: all that really interested him was finding one particular battered pickup at the curb, or catching the morning sun slicing through the plate glass window and illuminating one specific set of heartland values, along with the face and form that housed them.

To hang out at the Talon on a Saturday morning was to bump into Clark Kent. And yes, it could still be called that even if it was done on purpose. One just had to be careful about orchestrating it. Casual.

Despite his fine tastes, Lex was also good at casual.

_The_ _Wall Street Journal_ helped to create an air of offhandedness. Lex had only lowered it halfway when Clark had approached him to say good morning; the gesture made Lex's invitation to join him seem more cavalier, as if Clark's acceptance was of little importance.

It also served as a perfect shield when Clark walked to the counter to retrieve Lex's order and place his own. Lex unfurled the paper again, then leaned back and peered carefully around its edge. It occurred to him that he spent most of his surreptitious gazes on Clark's front; he wasn't afforded many opportunities to admire him from behind.

He'd have to send him after his coffee more often.

Clark returned from the counter with their order, jostling the table clumsily as he set the mugs down. He took in the sight of Lex leaned back in the booth seat, one ankle crossed over his knee and the rest of him mostly hidden behind his paper. Clark smiled. He didn't mind if Lex was focused on the stock report; it was nice enough just to run into him and be asked to stay. He somehow folded his huge body into the wooden chair opposite Lex, then scanned the various shakers and jars arranged in the center of the table.

"Hey Lex, is there any …"

Without even lowering his paper, Lex reached over and dashed some cinnamon over the top of Clark's cappuccino.

Clark smiled, amused. "How did you know that's what I was going to say?"

Lex let the top edge of his paper fold over and gave him a knowing look. "Isn't that something friends know about each other – how they take their coffee?"

Clark felt a strange surge of … some feeling he couldn't name. There had been a fondness in Lex's expression that made him catch his breath. But then Clark gave himself a mental shake – he was reading too much into a friendly gesture, that was all. He took a sip of his coffee to steady himself, then looked up again.

Lex had let his paper fall into his lap and seemed to be watching him with interest. Sometimes Lex looked at him like he could hear his inner monologue; it made Clark a little anxious, especially when his inner monologue was so focused on Lex himself. Without really thinking, he asked, "How do _you_ take your coffee, Lex?"

Lex studied him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Should he tell Clark about the trace of foam and cinnamon that lingered on his upper lip? … no, he might wipe it off. He raised his own cup. "Tall, dark and handsome," he smiled softly into the strong, hot Kona.

Clark appeared to choke on his cappuccino. His eyes grew wide and he cleared his throat a few times before speaking again. "Sorry – what did you say?"

At that reaction, something deep within Lex curled up like a satisfied cat and began to purr. "I said, dark – I like French Roast best of all, though if it's not done right it can be bitter."

Somehow, strong black coffee sounded very like Lex. Clark could never make himself drink it that way, though; he was either too unsophisticated, or else just too hooked on sweetness. "So I guess you don't need me to pass the sugar?" he asked, maybe a little too innocently – but he had to play off his reaction to Lex's joke somehow.

Lex felt another sly smile threatening to spread across his face; he raised his cup again to hide it.  
"Thanks, but I'm fine without sugar."

"No milk either?" Clark persisted, nudging the little metal pot towards Lex.

"Clark, are you trying to lighten me up?"

There was laughter glinting in Lex's eyes, even if the rest of his face was as cool as it always was. Clark knew he was teasing him; they'd always bantered like this. And while he enjoyed the playful back-and-forth, it could also be incredibly confusing; Lex had such a subtle way with words and he never tipped his hand,. Clark didn't mind the game … he just wished he was surer of the object.

"No," he replied, testing. "I just thought you could use a little less dark and bitter."

Lex couldn't contain the smile now. "A man's coffee is serious business," he said wittily. "Tinker with it and you could upset the balance of his whole world."

"Really?" Clark countered, a teasing edge to his voice now too. Lex was smiling at him, and in its warmth he felt braver. So he lifted the creamer lightly in his large hand, reached over and sloshed some into Lex's cup. "I don't mean to upset your balance. I just think you should try coming over to the lighter side. You never know; you might like it."

There was no doubt in Lex's mind that he would like it very much. He looked at Clark with intensity as he lifted his now-defiled coffee to his lips, took a slow sip and licked his lips experimentally. "Hmm," he murmured, "it's different, but not terrible. Could probably use some sugar now, though."

Clark could feel his breath growing short as he reached for the sugar. His hand felt even huger than normal and for one terrible instant he was sure he was going to knock it over. Then Lex's slim fingers were brushing gently against his as he too reached for the glass jar.

"Careful," Lex said, his grey eyes devilish and tempting. "You'll spill it."

Their gazes held for a long moment; then Lex pulled away with the sugar jar and stirred some into his coffee. He'd seen enough; he leaned back in his chair, drank, and made a plan.

"So what are you doing the rest of today?"

"Me?" Clark struggled to make sense of his thoughts in the wake of whatever he and Lex had just shared. "Nothing particular, I guess. I was thinking of checking out Fordman's sporting goods department; Pete and I have just about worn out my old basketball." He swirled the last of his coffee, watching the foam and cinnamon dissolve into the bottom of the cup. "How about you?"

"I'm driving into Metropolis. Have you heard the Sharks are starting up an arena team?"

Clark's eyes lit up, football chasing all other clouds from his horizon. "I did hear that. I've never seen an arena game though."

"Want to tag along, then? I was only going to inspect the conversions LuthorCorp made to the basketball stadium; but there's an exhibition game today. We could stay for it, if you'd like."

"Would I!" His grin was blinding. "When are you leaving?"

Lex glanced at his watch. "Right now, if you want to meet the team before kickoff."

"Great!" Clark bounded out of his seat. "I just have to call my mom."

"I'll go pull the car around, then," Lex said, standing too. He reached into his pocket and came out with his keys and a few folded bills. "Why don't you grab us another round of coffee for the road?"

"Sure. What do you want?"

Lex had tucked his newspaper under his arm and started towards the door. He threw Clark a challenging look over his shoulder. "You choose for me. Something on the lighter side."

Clark felt the flush rising in his face again and was glad to turn towards the counter so Lex wouldn't see. After he hung up with his mother, he studied the menu board carefully, wondering what on earth he could choose that might please the discerning palate of Lex Luthor.

A few minutes later, Clark slid into the Porsche's passenger seat. Lex turned down his Vivaldi and breathed deeply of the scent of leather, coffee and Clark tucked so closely beside him. Then he hit the accelerator, shifted through first gear and they were speeding off.

"All set?"

"Yup," Clark answered, slipping two coffees into the console. "I just have to give Mom another call later, let her know if I'll be home for dinner."

"If it's late when the game ends, there are a few good places near the stadium where we could grab a bite. Though I'm sure you'll stuff yourself with God knows what during the game."

"You know me," Clark grinned. "I'm always hungry. But noplace fancy – you might always be dressed for dinner, but I'm not."

Lex shot him a sideways look, taking in the ubiquitous flannel and jeans and trying not to appear too admiring. "I like a nice dive every once in a while too, you know."

"Okay, Mr. Five-Star Cuisine," Clark chuckled.

They were well out of town now, green and gold speeding by as Lex steered the Porsche expertly through the cornfields and grazing lands. For all his teasing about slowing down, Clark didn't really mind Lex's speeding – riding beside him like this felt gloriously like flying. He had no idea how Lex managed to keep his driver's license, though. Anyone else probably would've had theirs revoked long ago.

"So what did you get me?" Lex asked, letting up the clutch and gesturing towards the coffee.

"Here, this one," Clark said, picking up one of the cups. "It's an … oh, what were all those Italian words? _Amaretto macchiato._ Or something like that. It's …"

"Espresso over steamed milk with amaretto. Nice," Lex said, taking it from him and enjoying for a moment the heavy warmth of the paper cup against his palm. "I like almonds. Too bad we don't have a liquor license for the Talon, though – no syrup can do justice to real amaretto."

"Well," Clark huffed, feeling a little deflated. Of course Lex spoke Italian, and of course he'd prefer real liquor in his coffee. "At least it will make it sweeter. Which is what you asked for, right?"

"It is. So let's see how well you chose for me." He lifted the coffee towards Clark as if in toast, then tasted.

Clark watched carefully as he sipped, feeling his chest constrict as he realized he was focused on Lex's lips; they looked so gentle and soft against the cup's edge. He couldn't suppress a pang of – was it jealousy? – could you even be jealous of a coffee cup? He held his breath, suddenly feeling that a great deal of something very important rested upon Lex's approval.

Lex let the sweet creamy coffee roll over his tongue. The hint of almonds and the warm sweet milk worked in delicate harmony with the strong espresso. It was so different from what he'd choose for himself, and yet in some strange way, it tasted right. Maybe it was knowing that Clark had chosen it … had focused exclusively on him, and constructed something for no other reason than to make him happy. He took another sip, savored it – and took his foot off the accelerator.

They lost speed at once and Clark grew immediately alarmed. "Is something wrong?"

He didn't answer, just let the Porsche coast to a stop on the side of the road. The car, despite its tinted windows, was full of sunlight cast golden by the shoulder-high corn all around. The engine's faint idling charged the air with a sensation of power.

"Lex?" Clark said again, turning as much as he could in the small passenger seat. "What is it?"

"It's good," Lex answered, putting the coffee down and turning too. "Still needs a little something, though." Then simply, but inexorably, he slipped his fingers behind Clark's neck and drew him in for a kiss.

Clark couldn't help a small gasp of surprise, which Lex used to his full advantage. He placed his free hand lightly on Clark's chest and shifted the angle of his approach, teasing Clark's lips further apart and slipping into his mouth. For just a moment, Clark hesitated, but then let himself fall into the kiss; Lex's tongue was velvety and tasted richly of coffee and almonds.

They parted slowly, Lex letting his thumb graze across Clark's cheekbone as he pulled back. His stormy eyes never let go. "Now that's just sweet enough," he whispered.

Clark's ingenuous face was full of wonder. He didn't speak, but his hand found Lex's still lingering on his chest and pulled it to press against his heart.

Lex's expression, so rapt just moments ago, grew searching as the silence expanded. "Was that … not okay with you?"

"It was …" Clark answered softly, "… unexpected."

Lex's eyes crinkled slightly, a silent chuckle. "I like to keep you guessing."

"You must," Clark agreed. "I never would have guessed you were going to do that."

"But you haven't said," Lex persisted, his tone growing sober, "whether it was all right."

Clark didn't answer him with words. Instead he closed the small distance between them a second time.

The first kiss had been gentle, almost worshipful, the mute moment of chemical reaction in the striking of a match. This one was the flare of phosphorous and the long-anticipated flame. Lex was astounded at Clark's enthusiasm and for once found he did not mind the sensation of fingertips running over his scalp. Usually he reacted to that reminder of his baldness with revulsion – but this was Clark touching him, and that made everything different. For his part, he drank deeply of the mouth that Clark offered so willingly and let his own fingers skim over every inch of Clark's face. He marveled at the mass of his jawbone and the feathery softness of his eyelashes.

Clark wasn't sure which was more surprising: the fact that he was kissing Lex at all, or how much he never wanted to stop. He slid his hands around Lex's shoulders and pulled him close. It didn't matter that there was barely any room in the Porsche to begin with; he wanted to leave no space between them. The confines of the car made him more awkward than usual, but he found he didn't really care. And if his embrace was too restrictive, Lex never let on; instead, he went on kissing Clark as if he was trying to make them spontaneously combust.

Lex's fingers were deep in his hair when Clark finally came up for air. "Sorry," he grinned against Lex's lips, "but I need to breathe."

"Breathe through your nose," Lex commanded, and went back to kissing him. "Your mouth is mine right now."

Clark laughed, then moaned softly as Lex deepened the kiss again, invading his mouth with a skill and possessiveness that filled all his senses to the saturation point. "Lex," he murmured, "Lex. What are we doing?"

"Enjoying a cup of coffee," Lex insisted, kissing on. "Or have we lost the taste now? Should I drink some more?"

"I'll never be able to even walk past the Talon again," Clark protested as Lex nipped lightly at his ear; the sensation seemed to make the world tip on its axis. "Just the smell of coffee …"

"Yes?" Lex prompted, pulling back long enough to give Clark an impudent look. "What will it do to you, Clark?"

"Shh," Clark answered, bringing their mouths back together. "Don't want to talk about it. Just make me feel it."

It was Lex's turn to laugh. "What I'd like to make you feel does not belong on the side of a Kansas highway."

Just then, as if to illustrate the point, another car sped past them towards Metropolis and Clark's heart skipped nervously. This route was fairly quiet, but they were hardly by themselves here. Eventually, someone might pass the expensive sports car ditched on the shoulder and stop to offer help. It might even, Clark realized with mortification, be a State Trooper. He glanced quickly towards either horizon; they were alone again – for now.

Lex watched patiently as a number of emotions crossed Clark's honest face. Finally Clark returned to him and asked, "What should we do?"

"Well," Lex answered carefully, "I thought we were going to a football game."

Clark looked down at their hands, still clasped against his chest.

"Unless," Lex continued, "you've changed your mind."

Clark began to trace aimless patterns on the back of Lex's hand. "A lot has happened since we made those plans."

"It has," Lex agreed, fighting valiantly against the distracting power of Clark's light touch. "But that doesn't have to change them. I want it all, Clark – your friendship, your company, you." He leaned in, peering past the curtain of dark hair falling in front of Clark's face. "And besides, I've never known you to pass on football."

"Of course I want to go to the game." There was something profound and tremulous in his emerald eyes. "But I also want to keep kissing you."

Lex let the sweet satisfaction of those words pull him in for just one moment; then he grinned wide enough for both of them. "Nothing says we can't do both. Those luxury boxes are very private."

Clark didn't answer right away. Instead he just leaned back against the passenger door with his arms crossed and a contemplative expression in his face.

Then, "How long?"

"How long?" Lex repeated. "You mean, how long have I wanted you? Oh, you know … pretty much forever."

Clark blinked. "I wondered why you'd pay any attention to the cinnamon on my coffee."

"I've always been very attuned to details," Lex replied serenely. "So do you want to go to the game or not?"

Clark looked at him once more, then laughed and let his head fall back against the window. "I do."

"Then let's go," Lex replied, shifting the car back into gear.

"I think we should set some ground rules, though," Clark chided as the speedometer began to climb. "For instance, no distracting me on first-and-goal."

Lex raised his hand in an innocent gesture. "I would never try to come between you and football. I'll be on my best behavior, you have my word."

"So this hasn't been your best behavior?" Clark grinned.

"Definitely not," he replied with feeling.

"Your worst, then?"

"Oh no," Lex said slyly as he reached for the gear shift. "Though if you'd like to see that, at least let me buy you dinner first."

Clark caught his hand instead. "No dinner. Just coffee is fine."


End file.
